Always Pure
by madamefaust
Summary: Always Pure: The Rise and Fall of a Wizarding Dynasty, chronicles the life of the patriarch of an ancient family from school, to a secret society, to marriage, to children to death. Not only his death, the death of an era. How it all went wrong...
1. Prologue: Legacy

AN- I am of the opinion that JKR does not think before she writes backstory, especially for characters she is not fond of. Therefore, this story will be incidentally AU. I will disregard birth, death and order-of-birth dates on that over-hyped Black Family tree, if only for the fact that the woman doesn't know how to count. I also feel that good and evil is not nearly as black-and-white as Ms. Rowling seems to believe, therefore, Tom Riddle, for example, will have slightly more personality than being a meglomaniacal sociopath, at least in the beginning.

Disclaimer- I do not own the characters, setting or world or even parts of plot of this story. This is the intellectual property of JK Rowling (though, with some of her recent ventures into the Potterverse, I'm beginning to think it might be best if the fans took over) and the legal property of Bloomsbury and Scholastic Publishing Companies as well as the Warner Brothers Company. No money is being made, I'm just trying to fill in some of the gaps and resolve some issues left by the author lady.

** Always Pure: The Rise and Fall of a Wizarding Dynasty**

_ "In each family a story is playing itself out, and each family's story embodies its hope and despair."_ -Auguste Napier

Privately, Cygnus had always hated that tapestry. He'd tried to like it, tried to feel _something_ when he looked at it, though what he did not know. Perhaps he wanted to feel pride as he stared at those stark black letters, the lines that crossed and re-crossed so many times it made him dizzy to look at them for too long. Inevitably, his gaze would drift upward, to words neither faded by time, nor marred by abuse. _Toujours Pur_. It was a statement that Cygnus Black had memorised before he could speak. Before he understood that the curling black letters meant something to people, that the mere mention of the surname 'Black' to the right people could open locked doors without the utterance of a charm. Before he knew that blood was indeed thicker than water. It would be many years hence before Cygnus could understand what those words, those lines, those names meant. And still, more time would pass before they meant the same to him. You see, the names on that tapestry were not simply _written_, they were _burned_. And one could not truly understand the process if one did not touch the fire first.

This is where our tale begins, with one Cygnus R. Black, whose largest discomfort thus far in his life was a crick currently afflicting his neck. Not an uncommon result of looking up at the names of generations of wizards and witches who had passed before him, while deliberately ignoring his own artfully embellished name in the corner. All the other names had stories, what his father called "legacies" whenever he was caught staring at the old piece of cloth. Such meetings resulted in Father getting almost misty-eyed as he recounted tales of great-great-grandsomethings fighting dragons, burning Muggle villages or other such feats of heroics. For his part, Cygnus would play the dutiful son, nodding in all the right places and all the while wondering what this had to do with _him_. Those stony-faced strangers who sometimes shouted at him from their portraits not to run in the halls seemed as far removed from his life as characters from faery stories. Certainly, some of their exploits seemed as fantastical. And who was he? Nothing more than a boy, grasping at shadows.

Not that his life was not fulfilling, nothing could be further from the truth. That intangible word "legacy" aside, Cygnus lived a charmed life, the eldest of three siblings, he was born with the proverbial silver spoon clamped firmly between his lips. He wanted for nothing as a child, remarkably, becoming an agreeable person because of it. Since his demands were constantly met, he had never developed a method of displaying his displeasure if a desired object was kept from him. That is not to say that Cygnus never felt the pleasure of accomplishment; praise or affection, particularly from his father, was a prized constantly sought after and occasionally hard-won. Pollux Black was a stern, distant figure, much like the stone carvings in his stately home. The dark hair Cygnus had inherited was always severely parted on the left and his heavy moustache seemed to have been painted on. Cygnus never saw his father less than formally attired or in a position of repose and that was precisely how Pollux desired to live his life.

It would be lovely to say that he married someone who brought out his warmer qualities, coaxed a smile beneath the black moustache, but Irma Black (nee Crabbe) was nearly as formidable as her husband. They had not married for love, but their children never saw them quarrel and because the situation was advantageous to both, the match was considered a success by both parties. Pollux had been handsome, Irma had been comely and both had been wealthy. What more could one desire in a marriage? While the two were never bedfellows (what reason could there possibly be for sharing a bed when one had the money for two?), they had united often enough to produce two other boys in addition to Cygnus: Alphard and Orion. Alphard was a sweet boy, (soft, his father would say), prone to spending afternoons in the gardens, looking after ill rabbits and birds with broken wings. Orion was something of a mystery, the Jacob to Cygnus's Esau. He idolized and despised his brother in turns, causing Cygnus to grow far closer to Alphard as a result.

Soon, however, Cygnus would not be close to anyone for a while. His Hogwarts letter had come that morning, right on schedule. He did not derive any particular joy from the experience; his name had been down from birth and all his family had attended for years and years. Still, his father had clapped him gruffly on the shoulder and he had been graced with a rare smile from his mother, so the morning was a happy one.

His own numbness to the experience notwithstanding, he still held the letter loosely in his left hand, staring up and up until the names stretched back to a time before there even was a Hogwarts and he wondered, not for the first time, how he was ever going to deserve a place amongst them.


	2. Chapter One: Diagon Alley

AN- kamion, thank you for the thoughtful review, I am most appreciative. I probably ought to have clarified that this story is only AU in the strictest sense (I've never heard of the abbreviation 'ESC,' I like it). In truth, I don't intend to contradict anything that we know of the characters and universe strictly from the books. Little tidbits and supplements, like the Black Family Tree, however, I will feel free to toy with as I please since they are not what I would consider to be set-in-stone canonical (and even if there is some big, important reason for Cygnus to be thirteen when his first child is born, rather than a math error, I don't really care). I hope you find this chapter satisfactory.

Disclaimer- Everything in this story is the property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic Publishing companies and Warner Brothers. I do not own it, nor am I making a profit from it.

**Chapter One: Diagon Alley**

_"__The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed." - Carl Jung_

If he had expected shopping for school supplies to be any more exciting than shopping for the necessities of every day life, Cygnus was sorely mistaken. With father conduction business on the other side of town and Alphard and Orion being looked after by a house elf, he alone was left to contend with his mother who took no pleasure in such excursions unless they were solely for her. Thus far he'd been hurried through Gringotts, the cauldron shop and Flourish & Blotts, (in what he assumed was record time) with Mrs Black's fingernails digging trenches in his upper arm all the while. His mother had been blessedly forced to cease her progress while he was being measured for school robes at Miss Malkin's. It was an old, reputable shop whose ownership had been recently transferred to a cheerful young woman who had once aided his mother in a dire emergency involving a mink-lined cloak and ill-fitting dress robes. Irma Black had sworn by her ever since. After all necessary prodding and pinning was complete, Cygnus stepped off the stool and braced himself for the impact of his mother's hand, when the gods decided to favour him with brief respite.

"...and we have some lovely elf-spun silk on stock that I ordered specially for you, Lady Black." The short, smiling witch made a small gestured to a shop assistant who was off like a shot into a back room. She reappeared moments later with several bolts of silver fabric that shimmered and shone like water. The angle at which Irma's eyes caught the gleam made her appear almost spellbound. Cygnus tried, but failed to suppress a yawn. It was a mark of how utterly bedazzled his mother was that she did not think to reprimand him for forgetting to conceal his mouth in the process.

Seeing his chance, Cygnus inched ever so slowly toward the door. "I'll just be outside, then, Mother, shall I?" To his credit, he did wait for a response, but all he heard was Miss Malkin's excited voice saying, "Surely you'll have time for a _quick_ fitting..." Confident in the knowledge that this "quick" fitting would take at least a half hour, he walked briskly to the door and slipped into the street as the bells tinkled softly behind him.

Taking a calming breath of the air outside Miss Malkin's he leaned nonchalantly against the brickwork, probably smudging his suit in the process. The tall figures of witches and wizards streamed past his eyes, cloaks of every hue fluttering in their wake and creating a wonderful smattering of colour against the grey air. The sight did not seem altogether remarkable to Cygnus who had come to Diagon Alley many times before with his mother, usually when he needed to be measured for dress robes. At this point in his young life, the experience had long since ceased to be exciting and was now simply tedious. Had he not possessed an extraordinary amount of self control for a boy his age, he might have wandered off to see if Quality Quidditch Supplies had received a new shipment of Silver Arrows. Instead, he simply remained against the wall, eyes not focussed on any one person in particular.

It is very likely that he would not have spared a glance at the newest visitor to his line of vision, if the individual had simply continued on his way. As it was, he stopped directly in front of Cygnus, eyes darting to the bright gold lettering over the door of the robes shop. He appeared to be around Cygnus's age, if a bit taller, with a mop of straight dark hair that could do with a bit of a trim. His clothes were clean, if not precisely fashionable - then again, what Cygnus knew about fashion could be written on the head of a pin twice over. It was not actually his appearance that caught the Black boy's eye, but rather his demeanour. He carried himself like a prince, but had the air of one who had been misplaced. An air made more prominent due to the fact that he was trying very hard not to appear lost. Another remarkable thing about this boy was that he was clearly wandering London alone, without so much as a parental guardian on either side of him. The eldest Black boy assumed this lad had also managed to give his mother or father the slip and felt a momentary flutter of camaraderie within his chest for this other vagrant. At many levels, still a boy like any other, Cygnus was not never one to pass up an opportunity for diversion when suffering ennui. Being currently plagued with boredom and in possession of a moderately friendly disposition, he decided to engage the other chap in conversation. "All right?" he asked, a note of concern deeper than what he truly felt in his voice.

The boy turned and regarded him sharply, warily, almost as though he were a hunted thing. He relaxed almost immediately - well, not relaxed, precisely. To speak accurately, the boy merely became slightly less tense. Dark eyes scrutinized Cygnus thoroughly for what felt like several minutes until, apparently satisfied, the young man spoke. "I am looking for the place where you can buy a - a wand." Ah, well, that certainly cleared a lot up. One was only lost when they stopped searching for their destination. Wise young man.

Cygnus raised his left hand carelessly and pointed down the road, "Keep on that way for a bit and you'll come to Ollivander's." Not the best of directions, but wizards from China knew the way to Ollivander's, it was a famous place. Though, it seemed not famous enough that this boy knew where it was. He turned his head in the direction Cygnus had indicated, his brows coming together in what seemed to be frustration. Cygnus cocked his head at the other lad and inquired, "Have you never been here before?"

The tall boy looked momentarily torn between a fierce denial and the truth, "I...no." His mouth set in a thin line. "No," he repeated, more clearly. "I haven't been here before." He seemed somehow ashamed, though the Black heir could not work out why precisely. Many of his peers never saw farther than the gates of their estates before starting school. Of course, he thought wryly, they were generally accompanied by an armed guard of family and at least a dozen house elves.

Cygnus glanced over the other boy's shoulder at the bustling crowds in the street. His own mother and father would have been frantic at this point, even if they never expressed more than irritated curiosity to those around them. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead," was the swift, curt reply.

He had scarcely gotten out the obligatory, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," before the other boy cut him off.

"Don't be."

Well, this was certainly one of the strangest conversations he had ever had. Here he was, away from the overbearing presence of his mother, the disapproving gaze of his father and the ceaseless chatter of his brothers and all he could think to do was chat with an orphan in the middle of the street. Cygnus very nearly grinned. _Excellent._

"So, are you going into your first year?" Topics of general interest were always the safest way to keep a conversation going. All the best etiquette books said so.

"Yes," the other boy said, chancing a half-step closer to Cygnus to avoid being trampled by a pair of ten foot warlocks. After the danger had passed he did not move back, though the apprehension shining in his eyes indicated that he clearly would have liked to. "Are you?"

Cygnus nodded, "Yes, I received my owl just the other day. Not that I was surprised, of course, all the family's been." With the exception of Uncle Marius, but everyone was keen on pretending he didn't exist. Last Cygnus had heard, he was running a moderately successful tailoring business in Devonshire. The other boy nodded slowly and it occurred to Cygnus that perhaps recounting family history was not the best course of action when speaking to a boy who had none. He had opened his mouth to change the subject when he heard his name being called in a familiar agitated half-whisper. _"Cygnus! Cygnus!"_

Moments later his mother appeared over his shoulder, talon like fingers re-attaching themselves to the grooves in his arm that had not yet faded. "Cygnus, there you are. How many times have I told you not to run off without telling me?" The chastisement was far milder than he'd been expecting - in fact, by Irma's standards, she could easily be described as jubilant in that moment. Father was doubtlessly a few hundred galleons poorer. Her steely blue gaze then travelled to the young man in her son's company - rather, to the scruffy appearance of the young man in her son's company and whatever spark she had was quickly snuffed. A poor imitation of a smile forced its way to her lips and she fairly hissed through her teeth, "Come along, Cygnus. It is time for you to say goodbye to your...friend."

Since his right arm was swiftly going numb with pain, Cygnus extended his left, as he'd seen his father often do with Ministry officials. "Goodbye, then," he managed with minimal bitterness. They'd almost been speaking like real people for a moment. "I'm sure I'll see you on the train." After a moment's hesitation, the boy slowly extended his hand and Cygnus took it upon himself to close the gap, briefly clasping fingers that were strangely cool to the touch.

Apparently satisfied the exchange was now complete and that propriety had been upheld, Irma forcibly pushed her son down the street in the direction of the Apothecary. After stumbling over his feet for a moment, Cygnus was struck by a sudden thought and he craned his neck round until he caught sight of the other boy who had not moved an inch from where he'd left him. "What's your name?" he called out from under his mother's elbow. The boy hesitated and for a moment Cygnus was certain he would not respond. Just as he was swept away a reply reached his ears, carried through the din of the bustling crowd.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."


End file.
